


Fire Breather

by xCake



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Dark!Steve, Eventual Smut, F/M, Reader Has Powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCake/pseuds/xCake
Summary: It all made sense now why he wanted to go alone, why he'd been so distant with you lately.Steve had planned this. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision like yours.And yours, well – it changedeverything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> This story is based on an anonymous request I received on Tumblr. I hope I can do it justice!
> 
> The title is based off of [this song](https://open.spotify.com/track/0AdpXhpNmnBY7kOPNO1tEL?si=2dhB9cKFTkKPsUUevRTkvA). I think it fits the theme pretty well. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The echo of Bruce’s five second countdown reverberated through your brain as you stared at the empty platform in front of you. Steve was supposed to be there, but he wasn’t. He’d gone to return the infinity stones to their rightful places in time, and he hadn’t come back. He was gone. 

Panic hit at first, a deep, clawing fear that something had happened to him - that he’d finally been taken down by Hydra, or Thanos, or some other enemy that pulled itself from the woodwork. You were flanked by Sam and Bucky, who both shivered noticeably as the temperature rapidly dropped a few degrees from your fear.

When you really thought about it, though, it was an absolute no. Steve wouldn’t die like that. He wouldn’t _let_ himself die like that. He’d survived so many things, and he always kept going. There was no way that this simple mission, which was way, way easier than a space battle with aliens, would do him in.

Well, if he wasn’t hurt or worse, then it meant he stayed there for a reason. He purposely stayed behind. Something must have made him want to.

You immediately knew why.

Peggy.

Of course. It made sense. She’d been his first love, and deep down you knew that a part of his heart had always belonged to her. Their history was tragic, and as much as he swore he was in love with you, that you were the only woman that mattered to him, his best girl would always be her.

Steve left you behind. He chose her over you. You loved him, and he left you.

In an instant, your temper flared.

“Don’t,” Bucky said under his breath, glancing at you from of the corner of his eye.

You glared at him, your lips set in a firm line.

Sweat beaded on Bucky’s forehead as he felt the effects of your anger, the air surrounding the two of you now positively sweltering. You never felt the temperature changes, just the people in your immediate vicinity did, and for that you were thankful. He looked downright miserable.

Sam had luckily avoided it, having stepped a few paces away to yell at Bruce to get the machine back up and running. Nothing Bruce did was working, not a flip of a switch, a press of a button, a rewiring, a jolt of electricity.

Nothing brought Steve back, and Bucky didn’t seem surprised.

It was almost like he'd known that this was going to happen, that Steve wasn’t going to come back if he was given this kind of opportunity. Bucky must have known. The two of them were so close, it was impossible for him not to.

You weren’t sure what hurt worse: that Bucky hadn’t warned you, that Steve had left you - or that, deep down, you knew he’d do it, too.

“I have to,” you spoke quietly, tone clipped, eyeing Bruce and Sam as they failed to fix the machine in front of them.

They both still thought that it was faulty.

You and Bucky knew better.

“No, you don’t,” Bucky whispered back. “You need to let him go.”

“As if I could,” you hissed, backing up toward the platform. You were going to give him a piece of your mind. How dare he leave you after everything you’d been through together. How dare he whisper all those sweet nothings to you when he hadn't meant a single one. How dare he make a fool of you when you loved him so much. 

You were originally meant to accompany Steve on the mission. Only on the way to the platform this morning, after you'd put on the same suit, had he told you that he was going to do it himself - and you, of course, dutifully listened to your Captain.

What a stupid fucking call that was. It all made sense now why he wanted to go alone. He’d been so distant not just over the last couple of weeks, but during the last few times he made love to you, too. This was why. Steve had _planned_ this. It wasn’t a spur of the moment decision like yours.

Bucky said your name in warning.

“He chose _her_ , Bucky,” you bit out. “You know why I have to go.”

Bucky should have moved sooner, but the heat made him sluggish and weary. He should have shouted a warning to Bruce, who was rapidly hitting other buttons on the machine as he tried to get Steve back, but instead, all that came out was, “Damn it, don’t you dare—”

The pad was activated the moment you stepped foot on it, and then you were gone.

 

* * *

 

You didn’t notice the little differences at first. Where it had been sprinkling rain, now it was sunny and dry. Bucky was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, looking bored and unfazed by your anger. Bruce was still standing at the machine, flipping buttons, but at a much slower, less frenzied pace and Sam was nowhere to be found. He must have given up on trying to make it work. When you spotted the one big difference, you knew why. 

Steve was there, now, standing next to Bucky and staring at you like he’d seen a ghost. He must have come back at the same time you stepped onto the platform, because it didn’t look like you’d gone anywhere at all. You’d gone through the tunnels in the quantum realm, but you must have ended up right back where you started. 

It was great that he had come back to you, of course, but you were _pissed_.

“How was Peggy?” came your irate question as you rounded on him, jumping down from the platform. “I bet she was just so happy to see you, wasn't she, Steve?”

A soft murmur of your name came from behind you – Bruce – but you ignored him. You also didn’t notice the immediate distrust on Bucky’s face, or the way he pushed off from the tree, his hand hovering over the firearm in his thigh holster as you approached the two of them. No, you were more focused on the way Steve was taking in every inch of you in awe, like he hadn’t seen you in far, far too long. It made sense. After all, you had no idea how long he’d spent with her. For you it was just a couple of minutes, but for him it could have easily been a couple of years.

The very thought was infuriating. 

“You don’t get to ignore me,” you spat, shoving him back against the tree, your hand firm and unyielding in the middle of his chest. 

You knew that he could easily overpower you, but he didn’t. Instead, he whispered your name and slowly, hesitantly brought his hand up to cup your cheek. His palm was a hot brand against your skin, and you despised how you still leaned into his touch. 

“Steve,” Bucky warned, shooting him an unreadable look, one you didn't quite understand. Bucky’s forehead was dotted with sweat from your anger, now, but he didn’t look miserable this time; instead, he powered through it, his features set in a fierce determination that you’d only ever seen on the battlefield.

It was in that moment that Steve seemed to finally come to his senses, and he roughly pulled his hand away from your face, his blue eyes hardening upon yours. He was slightly flushed from the heat, but you immediately knew it wasn’t just your anger that was the cause. His awe and disbelief at seeing you again had changed to something darker. 

Hatred.

For all that he was, Steve had _never_ looked at you like that. A shiver went down your spine.

Something was wrong.

The way he twisted your wrist to remove your hand from his chest wasn’t gentle, and you flinched, your anger dissipating into the slightest lick of fear. 

“Steve,” you said quietly, your voice a pathetic whimper as you tried and failed to pull your hand from his too-tight grip. “Steve, that hurts.”

Something was wrong.

When he released you, you brought your hand to your bosom, rubbing at your aching wrist. He’d never acted this way toward you before, so cold, so rough. He’d never hurt you like this, at least not without your consent. The bruises he left on your hips on some particularly passionate nights were very much wanted. This was not. 

“Move,” Bucky told you, nodding his head toward the compound in the distance. The way he addressed you was entirely unsympathetic to your plight, not at all like the Bucky you'd befriended so long ago. 

Something was wrong.

“Okay.” Your voice cracked, and you held your hands up in surrender. “Okay, Buck. I’m going.”

Every single hair on the back of your neck stood on end as Steve and Bucky fell in behind you, letting you lead the way to the compound. The crisp autumn leaves crunched under your feet, far too dry for the weather. When you peered up to the sky, however, you found that it was clear and blue. There wasn’t even a hint of rain, here, but your shirt was still damp from it.

Something was wrong.

The trip to the compound was made in complete and utter silence. You weren’t angry. No, that had long since faded. You didn’t even care that Steve had spent time with Peggy. Not anymore.

All that mattered now was that he’d come back a changed man, and not for the better. It was like he was an entirely different person, and the way he regarded you so coldly, like he couldn't even stand the sight of you, made you want to cry.

Your split-second decision had changed everything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I, uh, just wrote another 5k words for this fic all in one go. Thought I'd share some of it earlier than anticipated. ;) 
> 
> Thanks so much for your kind words, everyone!

You almost thought that Steve and Bucky were going to put you in a jail cell with the way they were acting. It was true that you’d broken some laws in using the quantum realm for your own selfish reasons, so it certainly would have made sense for them to lock you up. The fact that your plan had backfired spectacularly didn't make it any less illegal. 

You hated yourself for making such a stupid, reckless, impulsive decision, for stooping so low. You weren’t proud of it. 

Surprisingly, you ended up where you least expected to go: your bedroom. It sure looked like it, anyway, but something was off. The shade of paint on the walls was a touch darker than it should have been. Your bed was neatly made, when you knew you’d left your sheets a tangled mess this morning like always. A thin layer of dust coated your belongings and hung stale in the air.

“Stay here.”

Your spine straightened at the cold authority in Steve’s voice, and you turned around to face him. God, you hated the way he was looking at you, his normally kind eyes so full of distrust, directed right at you.  

“Sure,” you spoke cautiously, not wanting to provoke him. “Yeah, okay, Steve. Whatever you want.”

At your suddenly timid response, Steve gave you one last hard, lingering look - a warning not to try something stupid - before he shut the door. Bucky said something to him on the other side, but he was too muffled to hear clearly and when you heard the click of the lock, a chill went through you.

Something was wrong.  The longer you stayed here, trapped in this room, the more you realized it.

The jewellery and trinkets sitting atop your dresser were silver, not gold.

Next to that was a selection of lipstick full of red shades, not the pretty pinks you’d always preferred.

On your pristine, uncluttered desk was a tablet, not a laptop. You were quickly locked out of it after you entered the wrong password three times. That was your first real, albeit failed attempt to really figure out what the hell was going on.

This was definitely your room, but at the same time, it also somehow wasn’t.

Your cell phone, the one that had been in your pocket since this shitshow of a day began, had no signal and even it did, who could you have called? If not Steve, then you would have tried Bucky, but he’d been just as indifferent toward you, and Nat was undercover on a mission. You threw it to the floor in frustration.

After another few tries of various other things – the lock on your window, and the glass that you’d forgotten was so unbreakable – you finally gave up and resigned yourself to your fate. Whatever that was.

Something was very, very wrong.

 

* * *

  

The afternoon sunlight was just starting to stream in through your bedroom window when the door forcefully swung open. You were laying on the bed, reading, but it pulled you out of your reverie and made you jump.  

“Get up,” Steve ordered, and immediately you were on your feet.

Your novel lay forgotten behind you atop the sheets, a well-worn copy of _Anna Karenina._  You’d picked it up from your strangely immaculate bookshelf in order to pass the time. It was the one thing that was still exactly the same, or least that was what you'd hoped, until you found upon its pages small, little details that weren’t quite what you remembered.

Steve’s eyes left yours for a split second to take in what you’d been holding in your hands, but what he saw only seemed to set him off.

“You came here looking like _her_ ,” he snarled, and you instantly shrunk back at his brisk approach, “and you sure did your research, didn’t you? Christ, you even went for her favourite book!”

It didn’t make any sense.

“Steve, I don’t—”

His fingers curled tightly around your upper arm, then, and he full-on dragged you out into the hallway.

A yelp escaped you at the sudden pain of his once again too-tight grip before you found yourself stumbling behind him, unable to move at the fast pace he wanted you to. When you saw what was waiting for you outside your room, however, it made your throat go dry.

Bucky was there with his rifle in hand, along with four other armed guards, two of which were posted on either side of your door. The realization that they had sent guards to watch you, to watch your room and ensure that you didn’t escape, came like a slap in the face.

They wouldn’t do that. This was a bad dream. It had to be.

Another rough pull on your arm made you realize that it was very, very real.

“We should wait until—” Bucky started to say, but he cut himself off when he saw his breath puff out in front of him. The temperature had dropped considerably. “How the hell is she doing that? Her face is one thing, but her powers—”

“Steve, please,” you gasped out, clawing at his hand, digging your heels into the floor. “I’ll go with you, okay? Please just stop, it hurts, I’ll go with you, I promise—”

“Don’t you _dare_ use her voice to beg like that,” Steve spat at you with a viciousness that forced a lump into your throat. This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. Even though he’d been distant lately, he would never, ever treat you like this.

Or would he?

You were a criminal, now. You’d made a stupid, selfish decision that very well could have affected any number of timelines if you’d travelled anywhere but back to your own.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the stormy blue of his eyes, so full of spite, were what did finally did it. Your tears had been pent up for hours, ever since the stressful events from this morning, and they cascaded down your cheeks at last. By the time they reached your chin, only small shards of ice remained.

Steve’s grasp on your arm instantly went slack, and then he released you altogether, leaving dark, tender bruises under the thin fabric of your shirt sleeve. Your vision was blurry with tears, and you used the heels of your hands to forcefully rub them away.

Aside from the sound of your pitiful sobs, it was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop – at least until Steve spoke again. The way his voice broke when he said your name made your heart weep.

As much as you wanted to seek comfort from him and wrap yourself so snugly in his arms like you’d done a thousand times before, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. You couldn’t handle seeing him look at you like that again. You couldn’t handle knowing that he’d left you.

You couldn’t handle any of it.  

Instead, you turned your glassy, red-rimmed eyes to Bucky. The look on his face clearly showed how much he still didn’t trust you, but you could see just a shred of softness that hadn’t been there before.

The two of them had always been weak to a woman’s tears. That, at least, hadn’t changed.

You always hated to cry in front of them, because any other time they would have coddled you like a child. Now that they weren’t, you desperately missed it.

“Come on,” Bucky spoke to you with a gentle familiarity that you almost believed was real. “Let’s go.”

You slowly nodded and followed him down the hall, along with the rest of your armed entourage.

Steve stayed behind. You felt his eyes on you until you turned the corner.


	3. Chapter 3

Well, you couldn’t really say that you didn’t expect it.

The compound’s lock-up facilities were small, spotless, and not-at-all comfortable. The walls were a pale grey, and the lighting was harsh, fluorescent. There weren’t any bars on your cell, because instead, what kept you inside was a thin shield of energy that was supposedly even stronger. You knew better than to test it out.

Only after you were locked securely inside did you finally try for some answers. Bucky was alone and fiddling with the control panel, probably inputting some information so that the others were alerted to your containment. You were surprised he even knew what he was doing; he'd never been the greatest with technology.  

You let out a long, exhausted, pointed sigh, but he ignored you. Of course he did. You'd just have to say your piece anyway.

“I fucked up, Buck,” you told him, taking a seat on the hard mattress inside your cell. Your voice was rough from crying. “I know that. It was stupid. But I came right back, right? It’s not like I—I killed someone. Right?”

Bucky continued to ignore you up until those last few words, and then he shot you a look: dangerous, dark. It made whatever other things you planned to say shrivel up and die in your throat. In that moment, to you, he was as cold as the Winter Soldier he once was - not the friendly, taunting Bucky you'd come to know and love like family.

At your stunned silence, he slowly turned back to the computer in front of him. Minutes passed in silence as he typed – something. You weren’t sure what. You wanted to defend yourself, get it documented, but you didn’t know what to say. Bucky had done worse things than this. You thought that he of all people would understand, and he was supposed to be your  _friend_. 

Your wrist was marred with dark bruises, but you knew that it would pale in comparison to whatever horrors lay upon your aching upper arm. Your sleeves were too tight to roll up and check on it, and you couldn’t really take your shirt off here, so for now the damage would have to remain a mystery. You were scared to see it anyway. You’d always known that Steve was strong, but until today you’d never had that brute strength directed towards you.

“Why?”

At Bucky’s sudden question, you looked up from your bruised wrist and over to him. He was standing in front of your cell, now, finally giving you his full attention.

“You know why,” you told him, voice wavering just a little. “He left.”

“Who left?”

As you studied Bucky's face, you saw determination, doubt, and judgment – and not a lick of sympathy. Whether he didn’t know what you were talking about or he was purposely being cruel, you weren’t sure and, frankly, you didn’t care. Either way, it hurt.

“Steve did. For—” your voice cracked, then, “For her. Why even make me say it, Bucky? Is that supposed to be some kind of punishment?”

He eyed you for a moment, entirely unreadable, before he switched gears. It didn’t look like your words had affected him at all, which made you feel even worse. “Who are you working for?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. None of this made any sense. “What? I work for Tony. We both do. Or, well… we did.”

Before he could ask you to elaborate, the door slid open and another person strode confidently into the room. Natasha. A sigh of relief escaped you when you saw her.

“Nat,” you croaked, offering a pathetic little wave. “I sure screwed everything up this time, didn’t I?”

Natasha’s lips were pressed in a thin line, and when you spoke to her, she froze for a split second; then she shot a sharp glare in your direction. You shut your mouth and slowly brought your hand back down to your lap, chewing your lip.

No one could stand the sight of you, it seemed. Not even her, and her morals were the most ambiguous out of anyone.

Had it really been so terrible, what you did? It was stupid, sure, but harmless. No one had been hurt, and you’d come right back. That wasn’t what you intended to do, of course, but that was what happened. Was all of this vitriol really necessary? Was a fucking  _jail cell_ really necessary?

“You weren’t kidding,” she said to Bucky, her face an impassive mask as she walked over to the control panel. “She’s good, I’ll give her that. I can even feel it from here.”

There it was again. They were talking about you like you were someone else. Steve had done it too.

Bucky went right back to ignoring you, joining Natasha at the panel. “Look at this. I don’t get it.”

Natasha frowned, tapping on the screen a little harder than necessary. “There’s no way it’s a match. It has to be a glitch. We all saw—”

Unfortunately, she was cut off by Tony’s loud, booming voice echoing throughout the room over the intercom. “Meeting room. Now. Let's go, chop chop.”

You stared up at the speakers in the ceiling, humbled by the sound. Tony had met his untimely death just a few days ago during that final battle with Thanos. It was just like him to make some recordings of his voice. How clever.

 

* * *

 

Steve placed the unfamiliar cell phone down in the middle of the meeting room table.

“You’ve all probably heard by now, but it looks like Hydra’s trying out some new tactics,” he told the group without even a hint of emotion. “Even had me fooled.”

Then he hit the button on the television remote to show you pacing anxiously in your cell.

An audible gasp escaped Wanda at the sight, but every single person in the room shared the sentiment. Only a few of them had actually seen you prior to this moment, but it came as a shock to everyone.

“How is she here?” Clint’s doubt was evident in his voice. “She’s _gone_.”

Steve gripped the back of an empty chair so tightly it nearly broke. “I don’t know. It’s gotta be a trick.”

“Whatever it is, it’s advanced,” Natasha stated. “Even FRIDAY recognizes her.”

Tony rolled his eyes and gave her a skeptical look, shifting in his chair. “Come on, guys. FRIDAY’s too smart for that. She wouldn’t fall for some stupid trick.”

“We did a full body scan, Tony,” Bruce told him, sliding a tablet over to Tony for him to take a look at the results. “We tested her DNA. It’s all a match.”  

The room went silent as Tony skimmed through the data. That was, of course, the moment you started to hum to calm your nerves. It was almost inaudible, but Steve noticeably tensed up at the sound. That song in particular was entirely too familiar.

Sam wasn't the only one to see his reaction, but he was the one who switched off the TV to spare Steve at least a shred of misery. “What do we do? If it’s not her, then—”

“It’s not her,” Steve snapped at him, betraying his otherwise calm demeanour.

Sam winced, holding his hands up in defense. “I know, man. I’m sorry.”

“She played dumb when I talked to her,” Bucky spoke up thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his chest. “Said something about Steve leaving her for another girl. Didn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

A flash of hurt went across Steve’s face, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. “I wouldn’t—”

“I know,” Bucky interrupted him. “I don't believe her.”

“What about her phone?” Wanda asked, nodding to the device on the table. “That's hers, isn't it? Looks weird.”

“There’s not a whole lot on there,” Tony answered. “She’s got a contact named Steve, because  _of course_ she does. Lots of phone calls. Texts, too. I saw a bunch of stuff I really wish I hadn’t.”  

Bruce groaned in exasperation, “ _Tony._ ”

“Take a look when you get a chance, Cap, she’s been really—” When Tony realized he was being glared at by a good portion of the team, he cleared his throat and continued, “Thorough. Anyway. The phone numbers are the weird part. They don’t actually exist. Might be some sort of code. FRIDAY’s analyzing them now.”

He chose not to mention that even he didn’t recognize the technology in the cell phone. Even Wanda had noticed that it looked a little strange, and while it was extremely similar to what the team used, there were small, almost imperceptible differences inside that only he had found.

Not only that, but some of the intimate photos he’d seen were explicit and very clearly involved Steve. How - if - they’d been doctored, he wasn’t sure, but he purposely planted the seed so that Steve would look into it himself. Tony certainly didn't want to look at them again; made him feel like he was intruding on something way too private and intimate. 

“If you go to talk to her,” Natasha began in warning, “and I highly suggest that you _not_ , just know that’s she’s good. Manipulative. She joked with me just like she used to, and her powers…”

Sam took a good look at Natasha and found that she seemed uncharacteristically bothered by it all. “What about her powers?”

“She’s sure as hell got ‘em,” Bucky responded uncertainly. “Somehow. Had me sweating in seconds.”

“Lock-up is freezing, too,” Natasha added. “It's like there’s a wall of cold air as soon as you walk in the door.”

“Oh, great!” Tony excitedly got to his feet. “That’s fantastic.”

Wanda eyed him warily. “How?”

Tony just grinned at her. “It's a good place to start.”


	4. Chapter 4

 

Natasha was right. Walking into lock-up really was like hitting a wall of cold air. It was a bitter cold that sank deep into Tony’s bones, absolutely freezing, so much that he could even see his breath. He had no idea how you were managing it, but he sure wanted to find out.

“Good morning, Weather Girl,” he greeted, jarring you from your sleep.

You mumbled inaudibly, sluggishly rubbing the sleep from your eyes. It had been difficult enough to fall asleep with how bright the lighting was, and now you felt like you hadn’t gotten a wink. In all honesty, you probably hadn’t. You didn’t even know what time it was as there weren’t any windows.

When you saw who it was, though, you were awake in an instant. “Oh my god, Tony!”

“The one and only,” he said with a grin and a wink, tapping a few buttons on the control panel screen before he detached it from the wall to use it like a tablet.

“You’re—” You squinted blearily at him, like you were hallucinating. “You’re  _alive_.”

Your response caught him off guard, and he paused, eyeing you curiously. “Uh, yeah, Elsa. Of course I am.”

Tony, at least, was exactly like you remembered, stupid nicknames and all. It brought tears to your eyes because he was alive, somehow, and for that you were incredibly grateful.

“I… I saw you die. How—?”

He gave you another weird look, especially because you were  _crying_  like you were so happy to see him and see that he was apparently not dead. It was bizarre. Then he went back to tapping on the tablet, pulling up some other analysis that FRIDAY had rendered overnight. “Oh yeah? What did me in, flock of pigeons? Death by chocolate?”

“Thanos.”

Tony noticeably faltered at that, and the tablet clattered to the ground.

“Hold that thought,” he told you, holding his index finger up as if to put the conversation on pause, and then he all-but-ran out the door. Once it shut behind him, he paged Steve under high priority.

 

* * *

 

The moment Steve got down to lock-up, he found Tony pacing in the hallway. The door was shut and locked, ensuring that you wouldn’t be able to overhear the conversation. He didn’t even get the chance to ask what was wrong before Tony said, “She mentioned Thanos, Cap.”

“What? How the hell—”

“It happened before that, right? When she—” Tony frowned, “You know. That was before Thanos, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve responded with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, Tony. It was.”

It was a touchy subject, and Tony didn’t like to bring it up. As much as they didn’t get along sometimes, he was still considerate of Steve’s feelings. That had been a very difficult, very trying time for him, and even now, years later, Steve hated to talk about it. About  _her_.

“That settles it, then,” Tony said with finality. “It’s definitely not her.”

Then he gave Steve a pointed look, as if he expected him to disagree.

“You really thought it was?” Steve asked him. He wasn’t angry, just surprised.

“Yeah. No. I don’t know,” Tony admitted. What he  _did_  know was that Steve hadn’t yet looked at the phone. “Check out her phone, Cap. I mean it. Even I’m starting to question it.”

Steve gave him a look of silent judgment, like he didn’t even want to go there, but he agreed anyway. If Tony was insisting so much, he wasn’t just jerking his chain. He wouldn’t argue about this. “Yeah. Alright.”

 

* * *

 

Your day passed agonizingly slowly. Tony and Bruce were in there with you for hours, running tests and scans and whatever else they could think of to analyse you – like something was wrong. Had something happened to your body when you went through the quantum realm? You knew it was a possibility – all of you had during that final mission against Thanos – but you felt fine. You felt perfectly healthy.

Just scared. Scared and upset.

There was no interrogation like you expected there to be. If you were a criminal, surely someone would be coming to interrogate you – right? But neither Bruce nor Tony talked to you much at all. A couple questions here and there, a little bit of witty banter, but they both kept things strictly professional, not friendly like you’d always been with them. It was strange.  

They were keeping their distance. Everyone here was.

You wanted to know why, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure it out.

 

* * *

 

The phone still sat on the meeting room table, untouched. Steve had left it there for Tony to finish his analysis, but it didn’t look like he’d be doing that anytime soon. He’d dropped an obvious hint during the meeting to get Steve to check it out, and now he’d stressed it again.

There was something on there that Tony wanted him to see, but Steve wasn’t really sure if he wanted to find out what it was. Honestly, he was afraid to look. Whatever it was was bound to dredge up memories he’d rather not remember.

When Steve first found the phone on the floor of your room, he hadn’t been able to get into it. The phone was locked, and every passcode he tried didn’t work: your birthday, his birthday, your anniversary, in twenty-something different combinations in rapid succession until the device finally locked him out for an indeterminate amount of time.

Of course, that was probably for the better. From what little he could see, it could have contained an explosive, so he gave it to Tony straight afterwards to make sure it was safe.

Apparently, it was, and Tony had given him the passcode.

Now that Steve had them, though, he was hesitant. He was wary. It took him a few minutes of debating with himself before he finally entered the four digits into the phone. When it finally unlocked, he took in a sharp breath at what he saw.

The wallpaper was a picture of you and him cuddling together in bed. The familiar pattern of your duvet made for a perfect backdrop, except the colour didn’t seem quite right; probably a filter like you always used. You were smiling so brightly at the camera, resting your head on his chest as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.  

When had you taken that photo? He couldn’t remember.

Steve found the list of recent calls, first, and wasn’t surprised to find that most of them were to him – or, well, to the contact you’d named ‘Steve’ in your phone. There was one call to him every day, and when he scrolled down the list, further into the past, he found that they were usually more frequent than that. Only in recent days had they whittled down to just one a day.

He didn’t recognize the phone number. Tony had mentioned something about that. He said it wasn’t real. Of course it wasn’t. None of it was real.

Your texts were what he checked next. Predictably, Steve’s name was at the top of that list, too. The messages you sent to him – the contact named Steve – were tender and loving, reminiscent of the things he used to get from  _her_  so long ago. It pained him to read them, because they were so, so similar to the texts he used to receive every single day. It was a brutal reminder that he’d never again wake up to one of those sweet little love notes.

A stark contrast to your tender words, the responses you’d received from him – from the contact – were short and succinct. These texts supposedly expressed love, but they seemed so unfeeling, like whoever had sent them hadn’t meant them at all. As he scrolled through the conversation history, he found the same pattern. The messages you’d received in earlier weeks had been longer, sweeter, and full of adoration.

It was clear that this person, this  _Steve_ , had very obviously fallen out of love with you – or maybe it was just a ploy.

Fucking hell. Of  _course_  it was just a ploy.

He couldn’t believe he was falling for it.

Further back in the chat history, a good three or so months ago, was where he found more pictures. There were some more of the two of you together, but at one point you’d also sent a few racy photos of yourself in peach pink lingerie. That, along with the wicked messages you sent along with them, made his heart race.

Tony wasn’t kidding. If this was a trick, you had been very, very thorough. The coy smile on your face made his breath hitch in his throat, and when he tapped on another photo, a closer view of your lace-covered breasts, he swallowed thickly.

Christ, you looked like her.

You looked exactly like her: your beautiful face, your perfect breasts, your soft curves… even the little mole right below your ribcage that he knew all too well. Every part of you was exactly like he remembered and if he didn’t know better, he’d believe it in a heartbeat. Hell, he even found himself wanting to – but he couldn’t.

He saw her die.

He held her in his arms and watched the life fade from her eyes.

It was something he’d never, ever forget as long as he lived.  

Still, Steve couldn’t help himself when he tucked the phone in his pocket and left the meeting room. He couldn’t give it back. Not yet. Not when Tony had so obviously given him the all-clear. It wasn’t that he planned to use it for the unsavoury activities that Tony no doubt assumed he would. No, he could never do that to her – to the memory of her.

Instead, for a little while, he’d let himself believe that it was real. He’d allow himself this one single thing, because he had nothing left to lose, not anymore. He wasn’t proud of it, but he’d give himself this until the sun rose. Then he’d stop.

True to his word, he stayed up all night taking in every picture of your bright smile, every photo that he’d never seen of the two of you together. He let himself believe, for a moment, that you’d sent those sweet messages to him, that every “I love you,” and “I miss you,” and “I’ll be home soon,” was meant just for him.

When he finally drifted off to sleep, he dreamt of you. He dreamt that you finally came home.  

And when he woke, his world shattered all over again.


	5. Chapter 5

Your second night in lock-up was easier than the first. As the hours passed, the quiet whirr of the energy barrier started to become strangely soothing. It gave you something to focus on when you tried to get to sleep, despite the bright lighting. Maybe if you asked nicely, Tony would dim the lights a little.

It still came as a shock that Tony was alive. In fact, you kind of found yourself doubting reality. Your time alone in confinement had allowed your mind to wander over the things you’d failed to notice or you’d brushed off as an overactive imagination. The strange differences here and there. The way some things seemed so off to you. The little quirks that weren’t quite right.

The fact that Tony was still alive was a big, big quirk.

It was perhaps Tony’s revival – or existence, or whatever the hell was going on – that really made you put more thought into it. You’d seen him die, but that wasn’t the only strange thing going on.

Steve’s awful, brutal treatment of you coupled with Bucky’s cold indifference were a huge indication that something was off. The first sign, really. Everything else after that first interaction with them was just noise. It all only served to further prove something you hadn’t quite figured out yet.

At least, not until the middle of the night.  

It made sense why the little things didn’t add up: why your trinkets were silver, not gold; why your favourite book wasn’t quite how you remembered; why you’d been treated with such contempt.

This wasn’t your home.

He wasn’t your Steve.

You hadn’t made it back to your own timeline. Instead, where you’d ended up was a mystery – a different timeline entirely. You’d been by yourself in lock-up for the majority of the last two days, but it wasn’t until now, as you drifted off into an exhausted, restless sleep, that it really sunk in:  

No one knew you here – _this_ you. In this timeline, you were well and truly alone. 

##  **~~—~~ **

The revelation hit Tony like a slap in the face.

It was obvious. It was so stupidly obvious that he hadn’t even thought about it. No one had.

Bruce had said that you just suddenly appeared on the platform. He’d been in the process of deactivating it after Steve made his way back from returning the infinity stones, but then you appeared with the same technology – wearing the same suit and the same timeline navigator Tony had developed.

This _was_ you.

Just not _their_ you.

This version of you was from another timeline, but you didn’t even seem to realize it. Of course you didn’t. Things must have been exactly the same, aside for their treatment of you. If you had the same equipment, it meant that you were part of the team there, too, wherever you were from. You would have had the same comradery, whereas here, they’d locked you up.

They’d put you in jail. _You._  

Tony was out of bed in an instant, rapping on Steve’s door.

##  **~~—~~ **

“Sweetheart,” came a gentle, familiar voice, rousing you from your sleep. “Come on. Wake up.”

Grumbling a little, you snuggled further into the blanket, but his soft laugh kept you awake. You’d always loved Steve’s laugh, and you still did – but right now, all you wanted to was sleep. You were still only half-conscious and you whined tiredly, “Baby, _please_ let me sleep.”

When silence reigned supreme again, you felt like something was off – so you blearily blinked your eyes open to find Steve standing above you, watching you, his lips parted like he had something to say but he couldn’t quite find the words.

Well, _that_ woke you up.

You scrambled to attention, yanking yourself up and away from him. Your thoughts immediately began to race at the familiarity with which you’d addressed him – this Steve – and you assumed that it would have just provoked him like everything else had over the last couple of days.

Of course it all had. He was a stranger.

In an instant, there was a noticeable chill in the air.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he spoke quickly, his voice rough from sleep. “I’m sorry.”

A shiver went through you at the sound – both at the low timbre and the way he’d sworn way too easily. Steve very rarely cursed, even in the bedroom.

“What time is it?” you asked nervously.

He just stared at you.

“It’s just, I don’t…” You swallowed the lump in your throat, flushing at the stupidity of your question. You had no idea how to act around him knowing what you knew – that he wasn’t _your_ Steve, but an entirely different person altogether. “I don’t know what time it is down here. No clock. Thanks a lot, Tony.”

Fuck, you still blushed so prettily for him.

“It’s still early,” Steve told you. “Just after four.”

Four in the morning. What the hell was he doing down here at four in the morning?

Your mistrustful thoughts must have shown on your face, because he took a step back and shoved   his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He didn’t know how to act around you. You were scared shitless of him if the way you’d just looked at him was any indication, and he didn’t really blame you. He’d shouted at you. He’d left bruises. He’d hurt you.

_You._

“I came down to check on you,” he explained, completely honest - not that he expected it to ease your fear. The bitter cold prickled at his skin and made him want to hold you, feel your warmth for the first time in far too long.

Christ, he had to stop.

You were a stranger. This wasn’t _his_ you, but hell if he wasn’t drawn to you anyway.  

“I’m fine,” you lied. “FRIDAY’s been keeping me company. Won’t tell me much, but she says hello when I ask, so that’s nice. She recognizes my voice.”

Then you chewed your lip and peered up at him.

You were testing the waters, fishing for information. The fact that FRIDAY recognized your voice and addressed you by ‘Agent,’ along with your full name, meant that you’d been an Avenger in this timeline, too. Unfortunately, she’d denied your security clearance and you hadn’t been able to access any other information. Considering your lack of clearance and the jail cell you were currently sitting in, you somehow got the feeling that you might have been a criminal in this timeline, too.

As you studied his face, what you found was that Steve wasn’t anything like he’d been the last couple times you’d seen him. He wasn’t angry or vicious. Instead, he seemed timid, almost, and if he was anything like your Steve, you’d guess he was nervous.

Why?

“So I died, huh?” came Tony’s teasing voice on your left, and you jumped, your eyes shooting over to the other side of the energy barrier where he was standing. “Thanos did me in?”

You and Steve gave him a shared look of annoyance that he hadn’t seen in ages.

For you, it was because it was four in the morning.

For Steve, it was because he wanted to spend more time with you.

“Sorry, Cap, but I’ve been _dying_ to find out,” Tony said with a grin, to which you snorted. You didn’t mean to, but you’d missed Tony and his stupid sense of humour. That drew his attention back to you, and he asked in all seriousness, “You know, don’t you?”

At that, your brows raised. Considering the context, this had suddenly just become a very dangerous conversation.

“About what?” you replied cautiously.

You had to be careful, because if you weren’t then you could easily disrupt this timeline. You may very well have been a criminal, here, and you may very well have to do hard time for that – but that was better than disrupting a timeline for your own gain like you’d originally intended to do. Like Steve – _your_ Steve – had done.

“You’re not from this timeline.”

Your eyes immediately shot from Tony to Steve.  

They knew.

If they knew, then you’d already disrupted everything. There was no reason to keep it a secret, and hey, maybe you’d be able to play it as a jail-free card.

“No,” you responded. “I’m not.”  


	6. Chapter 6

It all happened in a rush. One minute, you were in a jail cell, locked up for crimes unknown and the next, you were back in your bedroom. Well, it wasn’t yours, exactly, but it wasn’t _not_ yours, either.

Tony was extremely chatty as he led the way from lock-up, asking all sorts of questions about where you came from, to which you provided mostly vague answers. You’d already given away too much information in telling him that he’d died because of Thanos. The truths of your own timeline weren’t something that you thought that anyone here should know. You weren’t purposely being secretive, but you didn’t want to cause any more damage than you already had. 

Steve’s hand was warm and comforting on your lower back as they escorted you through the same halls you’d been through a thousand times – but here, only twice.

At first, you couldn’t help but flinch when Steve touched you. He’d hurt you in so many ways. He’d left bruises on your arms and your heart. He’d been so angry and bitter and spiteful with you over the last two days that it took you by surprise when he was finally gentle – and in that moment he seemed so much like _your_ Steve that you found yourself letting your walls down.

It was naïve.

He immediately went to pull away, like he’d overstepped – and truth be told, he kind of did – but you just gave him a small, reassuring smile as if to tell him that it was okay. His eyes were the softest, kindest blue upon yours and, when you felt his hand against your lower back again, you found yourself missing him, missing _this._

His affection. His tenderness. His care.

It had been a few weeks since you’d been treated so kindly by him, and even if he wasn’t your Steve, his palm radiated heat through the thin fabric of your shirt all the same.

“Why can’t I access any files?” you finally got enough nerve to ask at the end of your journey, when you arrived at your bedroom. “My clearance was denied.”

The question had been lingering on the tip of your tongue since FRIDAY refused to answer anything in the middle of the night, and you’d been wondering what crime this timeline’s version of you had committed. It must have been bad enough to revoke your security clearance, let alone have you thrown into a jail cell.

Tony’s chatty demeanour disappeared in an instant, and Steve’s hand instinctively slid to your hip, where his fingers dug in, as if to hold you in place – an act of desperation, almost. It didn’t hurt, but it was uncomfortable, just like the sudden change in atmosphere.

You still loved it – and him. Just not _this_ him.

“Why don’t you get settled,” Tony suggested, clearly avoiding your question.

You frowned, before you turned your eyes to Steve, hoping he might offer an explanation. The second your eyes met, though, he looked away, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He said nothing. Instead, he brought his hand back to his side.

You immediately missed his warmth.

“I guess it has been a tiring couple of days,” you acquiesced, eyeing Steve once more before you turned the handle to your bedroom door. “The meeting’s at eight?”

“Right! Right,” Tony spoke quickly, almost like he’d forgotten all about it. The others would need an update on the situation, and he’d invited you to come along just so that everyone was on the same page. The shock of it all had the team out of sorts, and he knew he’d have to answer your question eventually. The meeting might provide a good forum for that.

“I’ll see you at eight, then,” you told them both.  

“See you soon,” Tony promised.

Only when Tony pointedly cleared his throat did Steve finally look at you again, and all he offered was a terse, “See you then.”

It was a tense and awkward way to end a conversation, but you nodded once and then shut the door behind you with a soft _click._ When you turned around, you felt the anxiety start to creep in again. Everything seemed so familiar, and yet not. It was eerie. Even your towels in the bathroom were the wrong shade, just slightly – but, surprisingly, when you went for a shower you discovered that your soap and shampoo were the same brands you used at home.

Home.

So many things were the same, but the slight differences everywhere you looked were a constant reminder that this wasn’t your home.

 

* * *

 

At eight o’clock on the dot, you strode into the meeting room with all the confidence in the world. Well, not exactly. It was a façade, but you needed to exude confidence otherwise you’d shatter to pieces.

The others in attendance had been having conversations amongst themselves, but the second you walked in, all chatter came to a screeching halt.

It was too quiet.  

Tony had sent out a quick email stating that you weren’t a threat, but he hadn’t gone into more detail than that because everyone deserved to learn why straight from the source. That was what this meeting was for.

All eyes were on you, and you shifted uncomfortably at the front of the room. You knew every single person here, but you also didn’t. It was unsettling.

“So, uh,” you started, “I guess you could say I’m not from around here.”

You glanced from Natasha, to Bucky, to Wanda, searching for some hint of recognition from your closest friends, but you found nothing – so instead, you focused on Steve. His eyes were so familiar and so, so blue, and even if he wasn’t your Steve, just knowing that he was there offered some small amount of reassurance. In fact, his presence was stupidly calming. He was still a stranger.

“What I mean is, I’m not from this timeline. Let’s just say that this wasn’t my intended destination,” you continued, nervously fidgeting with the long sleeve of your dark grey t-shirt – something you’d never wear, just like the rest of the tight, dark, form-fitting clothing you’d found in your closet. “I don’t really know what happened to the ‘me’ that you all know, and I was hoping to get some clarity about that during this meeting. FRIDAY won’t tell me anything, and—”

“You died,” Clint interrupted.

Well, he never was one to mince words. Even still, his blunt statement caught you off guard, and you stared at him. “What?”

“Almost six years ago, now,” Natasha spoke up, and despite her flawless, emotionless mask before, it clearly bothered her to discuss this. She wasn’t the only one; just about everyone in the room shared the sentiment. You could see it plain as day: eyes turned downward in bitter recollection, heads hanging low. 

For some, it would have been much fresher in their minds, all the more an open wound, considering they’d just been brought back after a five year absence. Thanos had happened here, too.

“I’ll get you the files,” Tony told you quietly, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It might be better if you read about it.”

His implication was that this was dredging up awful memories in the team. Even you could see it on their faces. The realization of it – that you’d died, that you’d been _mourned_ – made your throat go dry.

“I’m sorry,” you offered hesitantly, sympathetic and genuine. “I—I didn’t know.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Steve told you, and you turned back to him to find that he was more upset than anyone. To the untrained eye, he might have appeared fine – a little bothered, perhaps – but he clearly wasn’t. You could just _tell._

In that moment, you realized that the two of you must have been together in this timeline, too. There was no other explanation. You could read him far too easily. Even if he wasn’t _your_ Steve, he was still like him in so many ways.

The question escaped you before you could hold it back, and you gestured between you and him. “Were we…?”

This wasn’t exactly the right forum for it, but this wasn’t exactly the right timeline, either.

“Yeah,” Steve responded far too evenly for your liking, and he slowly pulled a small chain out from under his shirt upon which hung two silver rings: a small, delicate wedding band coupled with a larger one to match. He didn’t have to say who they belonged to. “We were.”

The two of you were married. _Married_. Not just dating like in yours. 

It was another level of commitment that you would have reached one day, maybe, if Steve – your Steve – hadn’t been so selfish and made such a stupid fucking decision to go back into the past to be with his first love. That new knowledge shook you to your core, but more than that, it made you angry. 

It hurt, too. It stung to know that while your Steve had abandoned you, this one hadn’t. No, instead you’d been married, and then you _died_ —

“It’s her all right,” Bucky said, then, and it drew you out of your reverie. When you looked over at him, you noticed the sweat dotting his brow, and Wanda’s, and Bruce’s – and then you caught Steve’s gaze once again, and you nearly forgot how to breathe. His eyes were a stormy blue, but you knew in an instant that it wasn’t because he was angry, too; it was because he knew.

Somehow, he knew about what happened in your own timeline. You vaguely recollected rounding on him when you first arrived, spitting some vicious words about Peggy. Not much. Then you mentioned her again to Bucky. Still not much. 

Still, he knew.

“Sorry,” you said again, almost robotically this time, before you made your way to the door. “I just… I need to just…”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence, instead opting to shove open the glass door and exit the meeting room without a shred of the faux confidence you’d displayed before. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. All you could focus on was how much you wished that _this_ was your timeline. 

Even if you were dead, here, you knew you must have died happy.

Now, you were anything but. You were a mess, upset and distraught and hating yourself for it. 

When you left, you took the sweltering heat with you.


	7. Chapter 7

A call of your name made you stop dead in your tracks in front of the elevators. You hadn’t gotten very far, and while you still felt like you were on the verge of panic, hearing Steve say your name again calmed you in a way that nothing else could. Reassuring, almost. Comforting.

When you turned around, face flushed from humiliation and eyes burning with unshed tears – you saw him looking at you just like _your_ Steve used to, full of love and adoration and worry. You knew you weren’t the same ‘you’ he’d married, just like he wasn’t your Steve, but there was still an indescribable pull between the two of you.

“I’m sorry,” he told you, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry. You just— You look so much like her, and I can’t...”

His sentence trailed off as you took a step closer to reach out for him before you slowly, hesitantly brought your hand up to the side of his face. You already knew what he meant to say, that he almost couldn’t differentiate between the two of you. It was a feeling you knew well. 

None of this felt real, but somehow, he did. The fact that you could touch him was proof of that. Beneath your palm you could feel the familiar heat of his skin, and his stubble; he hadn’t yet shaved since today’s early wakeup.

His stunning blue eyes were on yours, wide and alarmed and you were sure yours were, too. An unasked question danced within them: what are you doing?

You didn’t have an answer. What _were_ you doing? He was a stranger, and yet, he didn’t feel like one. Not really. There were definitely some differences, but there were more similarities than not and you found yourself wanting to discover more.

It was stupid.  All it was going to do was get you hurt again, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

“You look like him, too,” you admitted quietly.

That was when his large hand came to rest atop your own, and your heart skipped a beat at his gentle touch. He was so, so careful with you now, a stark contrast to the brutal way he’d treated you when you first arrived and you finally understood why. If you were dead, here, then no wonder he was suspicious of you. He had every right to be. They all did.

When he brought your hand to his lips, the breath caught in your throat.

“I want to know what happened,” he whispered against your sensitive skin, pressing a kiss to your palm with such tender familiarity that your heart ached. “Have lunch with me.”

Even now, his honesty made you weak. As much as you didn’t want to discuss what happened between the two of you in your own timeline, you wanted to be honest with him, too.

“Okay,” you responded breathlessly, and he smiled at you – a genuine smile directed right at you, one you hadn’t seen in weeks and, at the same time, never. Then he kissed your knuckles once, and let you go.

You immediately missed his touch.

“The weather’s nice today. Maybe we could go for a walk by the lake?” he suggested, before he rushed to add, “Do you have a lake in your–?”

You found yourself smiling, too.

“Yeah, Stevie. I do.” His nickname slipped off your lips too easily, and as soon as you realized what you’d said, your cheeks started to burn and you looked away in embarrassment. You knew you should apologize, but at the same time you didn’t want to because it just felt _right_. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off, but his tone was kind. “You don’t have to apologize.”

That same kindness was what inspired you to meet his eyes again. The nickname must have caught him off guard, because he was rubbing at the back of his neck just like the Steve from your timeline used to do. He was embarrassed, too.

“Meet you downstairs at 11?” you offered. “A walk sounds nice.”

At that, he gave you a sheepish smile. “Sure. See you at 11.”  

Then, after one final, awkward pause, he made his way back to the meeting room. You knew that you should have gone with him, tried to explain yourself to the group – but you couldn’t handle that yet. Instead, you kept your eyes on him until he turned the corner.  

 

* * *

 

Getting ready for your date, if you could even call it that, proved to be difficult. While most of the things in your closet were pretty enough, they weren’t your style even if they did fit like a glove. Actually, that was one of the many reasons why they weren’t your style: all of your clothing here was form-fitting, and in deep, dark colours that would suit someone like Natasha – a femme fatale, not you.

It made you wonder what the ‘you’ in this timeline was like.

“FRIDAY,” you spoke aloud, slowly flicking through the many garments hanging in your closet. “Has my security clearance been fixed?”

You hadn’t been able to access anything because your security clearance ended when you died. Now that you were very clearly alive, you were hoping that Tony would have sorted it out.

“Affirmative,” she responded. “What would you like to know?”

“Tell me about, uh… me.”

So she did. She rattled off a lot of information, and you found that most of it was the same: your birthday, your parents, most of your history. You got your powers in the same way, and you became an Avenger around the same time, too. There were a lot of similarities.

When she started to talk about your relationship with Steve, however, you faltered and dropped the black bodycon dress in your hands. It felt like you were intruding on something private, especially when she regarded you – the ‘you’ from this timeline – as “Mrs. Rogers.”

That said, it appeared that you’d never officially changed your name. You understood why. If it was common knowledge that the two of you were married, then you’d most certainly be a target. Then again, it made you frustrated because you’d always wanted to take his last name. You’d been waiting for him to ask for years, but he never did. 

Now you knew why. He’d always wanted Peggy to have it.

A few photos came up on your tablet, then, photos of the wedding that instantly had your stomach in knots. The white dress was everything you’d ever imagined, and so was Steve. He looked incredibly attractive in a tux, but more than that, he was happy. It was a particular brand of happiness you’d never seen before – not even from the Steve from your timeline.

You wondered if Peggy got to see it in the end.

As you distractedly flicked through the photos, you found that Natasha was your maid of honour and, predictably, Bucky was Steve’s best man – but what caught your attention the most was how _different_ you looked. 

How different _she_ looked.

She had your face, but about her was an air of confidence that you’d never had. The bright red lipstick was one indication of it, and a couple of tattoos were another. On her left wrist was a phrase you couldn’t quite make out, and on the back of her neck was one more, a small flower.

When you looked closer, you noticed some scarring, too. While you definitely had a few – they came with the territory – she had a great deal more.

You may have looked like her, but the two of you seemed so incredibly different. You were once again vaguely reminded of the femme fatale stereotype, something you’d never, ever been. No, where she was bold and confident and sexy, you were anything but. You were indecisive. You were confident, sure, but not nearly as much – particularly where she seemed to prefer tight, dark clothing, you liked soft pastels and airy florals.

With an indignant huff, you sat the tablet down onto the desk and turned back to the closet in front of you. None of it really suited a lunch date, but you begrudgingly found something to wear anyway: skinny jeans ripped in the knees and a pair of black converse. In one of the dresser drawers, you found a white t-shirt – presumably Steve’s, considering the size – and you pulled it on, tying the loose hem in a knot at your waist.

It wasn’t exactly ideal, but the lighter colours made you feel more like yourself and less like an imposter.

Deep down, some part of you wanted to make a point that you _weren’t_ her. Why, you weren’t exactly sure. It could have stemmed from insecurity, or maybe it was a way of getting back at him. Either way, the only thing you did know was that, for some stupid reason, you were looking forward to seeing him despite the conversation you knew would follow.

 

* * *

 

A couple of minutes until eleven, you took the elevator downstairs, humming to yourself the whole way. When you reached the bottom floor, the doors opened with a ‘ding’ and you spotted Steve standing by the entryway in a grey t-shirt, hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his jeans.

You didn’t notice until you saw those pictures that he looked different, now, too. There were fine lines at the corners of his eyes and on his forehead, evidence that nearly a decade had passed since the photos were taken. He looked the same as your Steve – weary and battle-hardened – but the happiness you’d seen in those photos was long gone.

At least, until he heard your approach and when he turned to greet you, the words just didn’t come. Instead, you noticed a spark of that same happiness in his eyes as he drank you in.

The Steve from your timeline had _never_ looked at you like that.

As flattering as it was, you quickly found yourself feeling a little insecure. Maybe you were dressed too casually. Maybe he recognized that you were wearing his shirt. Maybe you should have just dressed like _her._

Those worries were quickly forgotten when he stooped to collect a small basket from the floor next to him – lunch – and then he offered you his free hand like he’d done it a thousand times before. He probably had, whereas the Steve from your timeline certainly hadn’t. Not in a long time.

You accepted it far too easily, and the feeling of his hot skin against yours made your heart race. The conversation was light and simple, not awkward in the least despite how flustered you were – and then, about halfway to the lake, Steve slid his fingers between yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

To you, it was.

The rest of the way to the lake, you let yourself believe that it was real. You’d allow yourself this one single thing, because you didn’t have anything left to lose, not anymore. You weren’t proud of it, but you missed this. His affection. His kindness. His love.

You wanted to believe it was real, and for a moment, you did.

When you finally reached your destination, the two of you settled in on one of the benches. His shoulder brushed against yours as he unpacked the basket, and when he held out a couple of sandwiches to you, you realized that they were your favourite. He’d made them especially for you.

The weather really was perfect. It was sunny and warm, and you couldn’t keep the smile off of your face. 

It all felt so real.

Then he asked you a question that shattered your delusion, and with it, your good mood.

“Who is Peggy?”


End file.
